Finding Bobby: The Coming Storm
by planet p
Summary: Third in a series; sequel to Finding Bobby: Changeling.
1. Chapter 1

**Finding Bobby: ****The Coming Storm** by planet p

**Disclaimer** I don't own _the Pretender_ or any of its characters.

* * *

_10 years later_

Jarod smiled at the staff, and at the patients, of the facility as he passed through hallways and wards, but inside, he was not smiling. He felt trapped, and upset.

It wasn't the same exactly, but it was similar enough to hurt. Once, he'd been trapped like this. Once, he'd been the one contained.

Inside the Center, he had been able to reach his full potential, he heard invisible voices saying. Inside this facility, the patients could reach their full potential, get help, be who they truly were inside, not the distorted, unwanted image the illness showed to the outside world.

He might have been outside, but inside – inside him – he was still what he'd been then, when he'd been inside, he was still a Pretender. And now, the image that he presented to the outside world was the distorted one. Maybe not unwanted – at least by those who were not the Center, nor knew of it – but distorted nonetheless, stunted.

Sometimes, he wondered if it hurt him, too, to be away from that place, in some crazy, crazy way, to be away from people who wanted him to reach his full potential, no matter the reasons or means.

If he was of a firm opinion against everything that they stood for, then could it still hurt him? Could it hurt him simply because it was unfulfilling to his potential, because he had so much more inside?

The thought was laughable, and painful, and ridiculous, and he grew mad with it, every time he thought it. The Center had stopped him from reaching his full potential – by deciding what it was his potential was in the first place, by implanting false pretences and false reasons and false… everything!

He'd never been able to reach his full potential as a feeling person – as a son, a brother, a friend, a lover, a father – because the Center had decided he would be better suited as a thinking person – purely – had decided he would be better suited to _their_ purposes as one half of a person!

They'd never thought of what he might want, or need, or require, damn it!

They'd never thought that he _needed_ to be more than just half of a person, needed to be more than just a fragment, a splinter in the side of a world that had incorrectly – or correctly – been led to believe that it did not want him, as much as he did not want it!

But he had not known that he could want it!

And it had not known that it could want him!

He forcibly pushed the thoughts from his mind; his heart was beating too fast in his chest. He needed to remain alert, in case the Center discovered word of his whereabouts, he did not need to be so wrapped up in his own thoughts that he walked right into one of them and, as they both realised who the other was, began scrambling and running and praying that the other did not succeed.

That was one of the things he liked least about the Center, that he always had to make other people fail at what they were trying to do to be able to succeed at what he was. That was one of the things that always sucked! Misinformation and deceit!

He didn't want to hurt people, or cause other people to bring harm upon them, but the Center didn't car about what he wanted, they only saw what they wanted, fuelled by more misinformation, and more deceit!

Sometimes he thought, they were the same, all painfully mislead, all painfully suffering for it, but unable to change – totally incapable of change because that was the way it was, and would always be!

Maybe it was frightening, to think of it being otherwise!

Maybe it was stupid, when other people did it, other people got away with it!

Maybe he was ill – and stupid – for not allowing the indoctrination and lies to sink in, to stick, quite as much as those others, though he was sure, in his own way, that he was no less indoctrinated, no less corrupted, than any other being on this Earth.

No, the one thing that the Center failed to grasp, was that he was still human!

Just like they were!

Just like all the other people on this planet were!

And that they were a part of each other, whether they liked it or not!

Not for the second time that day, he pushed his now unwanted thoughts away, infuriated. He did not want them now! What was the use? He'd face them later! He wasn't sending them away for good – that was too like the Center's style – he was putting them away for a time when he could look at them and see some sense in them, see something that was not _I hate everything! And I hate everyone in it!_

What a ridiculous thought!

He had to race, out of breath, to catch up with himself before he began analysing that, too. It was what he did when he was agitated or upset, he knew. He began analysing things, as though he had some problem, and could not stop.

It was beyond upsetting. It reminded him of the Center, and why he'd once been sent – taken, really – there. It made him turn, start to think like them, _Look at you! You'd be perfect, can't you see that?_ It made him angry!

It made him scared! _Maybe I'm mad? Maybe that's it!_

Which brought him back to the facility he was now striding through, toward the visitor's rooms, like an intruder to a cool, cosy – sometimes stifling, suffocating – nest, like someone who stole children from their beds at night, and from their comfortably, familiar lives, and thrust them into Hell, into worlds they hadn't even known to have existed!

_It wasn't Sydney's fault!_ he thought quickly. At least you got to meet Sydney! If he'd never come – been brought – to the Center, then it was likely that he'd never have met Sydney, either. And he could not think about that. He did not think anyone could, about someone they cared for.

Everything else just seemed to melt away, sometimes, to become so little as to be inconsequential. It hurt, too, but it wasn't the same hurt. It wasn't the same, because he wasn't trying to run away from this hurt, he welcomed it. It was his – and they couldn't stop him from feeling it, they couldn't, no matter how hard they tried, ever take it away from him!

It would be his until the day he died and left this world for that next great adventure!

Sometimes he hated it! But sometimes he loved it, too! And that was okay! It was his to love or hate as he wished, or, sometimes, both love it and hate it at the same time!

* * *

As he entered the visitor's room, Bobby was sitting at the table, staring at nothing.

* * *

_The title sucks! If you're interested in seeing this series continue, I'd like to know, because I think it's getting nowhere fast!__ Rrr! * annoyed at self * Thanks for reading!_


	2. Chapter 2

Jarod had just ducked out for a drink, purchasing himself a bottled mineral water from a vending machine down the hall. It must only have been a moment, a minute or two at most, maybe he'd stood around for a bit too long, or dawdled on his way back from the vending machine, but it can only, essentially, have been a minute or so.

He slipped back into the visitor's room, noting that the orderly who'd been standing by the door had left, perhaps to take care of some trouble, and that Bobby was exactly where he'd been when Jarod had left the room.

Except this time he wasn't staring into thin air, but instead into the face of a young woman dressed in a cleaner's uniform, though Jarod doubted very much that she was, in fact, a cleaner. She looked to be about seventeen, with midnight-coloured hair, and grey-brown eyes.

As he drew nearer, he could hear that she was talking to Bobby in a lowered voice, and strained to hear exactly what she was saying without approaching or revealing his presence.

"It's from Drew's bedroom," the teenage girl said, referring to a small pink plastic pony that Jarod could see standing on the table in front of Bobby, if he shifted to the side a bit. "I don't think her mother saw me take it; I think I'm safe." The girl paused, before continuing. "Okay, so, progress: Drew's still officially missing, though the police aren't currently pursuing any leads on possible suspects. I'd say they figure she ran away, or they're keeping real quiet."

"Hayley."

The girl frowned, leaning closer to Bobby.

"The pony's name is Hayley," Bobby told her, looking at the plastic pony on the table in front of him as he spoke.

The girl smiled. "Hayley," she repeated.

Bobby lifted his face and looked her in the eye. "I have a visitor."

The girl nodded, conveying her understanding. He was in one of the visiting rooms, so he obviously had a visitor. "Animal, vegetable or mineral?" she asked humorously.

Bobby didn't answer, but reached up a hand and picked up the toy pony.

The girl waited, pressing closer to Bobby in anticipation, her hands gripping the edge of the table.

Bobby replaced the toy on the tabletop, and glanced at the girl. "She's dead," he told her blankly. "Her father and aunt were having an affair; her aunt believed that he was going to leave his wife to be with her. When he explained that that wasn't going to happen, she figured the reason why was Drew. If she could get the kid out of the picture somehow, she believed that he'd take her back, and leave her sister for good."

"Are you sure Drew's dead?" the girl asked in a slightly higher voice than before, as though upset by the news, but trying not to let it show.

Bobby put his hands up to his throat illustratively. "She strangled her. She stopped breathing. I can tell you where she put the body after that?"

The girl lurched back from the table involuntarily, and then, a moment later, pushed herself back toward it. "Where? Where is Drew?"

Bobby reeled of a few names of places, and the girl jotted these down in a PDA, coloured in a gradient that ran from purple at the bottom to pink at the top and decorated with stick-on false diamonds.

The girl nodded, noting down the last detail, and returned the PDA to a pocket of her uniform. She sniffed, and hesitated a moment before picking up the plastic pony and shoving it into another pocket. Drew had probably been playing with the pony right before it had happened. Maybe she'd even been holding it, and it had dropped out her of hand.

The girl smoothed the front of her clothes across her legs with her hands, before looking up to meet Bobby's eyes, and placed at hand on his face, her palm flat. "Thank you."

"Goodbye, Ida."

The girl lifted her face, and let it fall back down, so that she was gazing at Bobby again. "Bye, British," she said.

Jarod quickly slipped out of the room and made himself preoccupied with a noticeboard, then watched as the girl walked calmly away and out of sight at the end of the hall, before returning to the visitor's room.

With the departure of the girl, Bobby had gone back to staring at nothing, and though Jarod attempted to broach conversation, Bobby didn't say a word, and Jarod was annoyed when, some minutes later, the orderly arrived to announce that Bobby had somewhere else to be.

For a moment, Jarod thought about telling the orderly about the girl, then changed his mind, thinking about all of the times Parker had visited Angelo and he as children. If he'd never had that contact, he didn't like to think how he'd have turned out, what sort of a person he would have become.


	3. Chapter 3

**TOTAL SCARINESS WARNING**

* * *

They were sitting in a small room, used for housing cleaning supplies, or maintenance equipment or storage. It didn't really matter in the end.

Ida was staring down at her wrist, where she was playing with her charm bracelet, which had a new charm in the shape of a horse. "You were right, B.," she said, to the floor, instead of Bobby. "It's so sad."

Bobby didn't reply, but watched her staring at the charm bracelet she was wearing. She'd gotten it when she was fourteen, and she still wore it; there were only a few spaces left for any new charms that she bought or might be given.

Ida looked up from her wrist and glanced at Bobby. "Do you like my new charm?" she asked. "I bought it after the funeral."

Bobby made a face and titled his head a bit. "You should go to school," he told her tiredly.

She punched him in the arm, and dropped her eyes back to the floor. It wasn't as though he went to school! She shifted a bit closer and stared at her stupid, old trainers. They were too old, they were so embarrassing, she didn't know why she even wore them anymore (apart from the fact that they were her favourite, which didn't count because she wasn't a baby anymore). "So, do you see romance in my future?" she asked conversationally, picking at one of her shoelaces. "I _need_ a boyfriend! Both of my friends, Carmen and Lizzie have boyfriends – and I don't even have a friend who is a boy!"

"Maybe-"

Ida whipped her face up and pointed at him with wide eyes. "Argh, don't you dare!"

"Maybe, if you attended school regularly," Bobby began again.

Ida put her hands over her ears, and grinned. She couldn't hear him!

Bobby gave up and stopped talking.

"I do go to school!" she ranted, grinning widely, but careful to keep her voice down. Her father was a police officer! She'd only taken school off a few days in the entire year, for goodness sakes! A couple because she'd been sick, and one to attend Drew's funeral. She narrowed her eyes at Bobby in a glare that she didn't really mean.

He might have been psychic, but sometimes she never would have known!

"Did it hurt?" she asked in a low voice, staring past Bobby at the wall.

"It was only for a little while," Bobby replied plainly.

She stared at him suddenly. "When you…" she shook her head, her voice a whisper – she didn't know the word – "did it hurt?"

Bobby smiled at her and told her in a pleasant voice, "No."

Ida stared a bit more. In all of the times she'd been to see him over the last year, she didn't think she'd ever seen him smile. She wondered if he was lying, or if he was just being patronising. Maybe it had hurt, and he just didn't want to know because he'd be embarrassed, or maybe he thought her concern was funny.

She wanted to punch him in the arm again, but this time so it would hurt, except, maybe that was what he wanted. The thought made her put an extra effort into stopping herself. She stared at the wall instead, trying not to glare or let her anger show on her face. He could go to Hell! He was a freak, anyway!

She wondered if he'd even cared that Drew's aunt had killed her, or if he'd _liked_ it! He _was_ in a mental institute, after all! Which meant that he was crazy! Suddenly, she didn't even know why she hung around him, or came to visit him – and she couldn't think of a single reason why she'd even started in the first place! He was a creep – and she hated him!

She wondered, suddenly horrified inside, if he had mind powers. Maybe he was controlling her! Suddenly, she wanted to scream at him and hit him! She didn't want to be in this stupid, creepy, cramped room with him anymore!

She launched herself at him, hands balled into small fists, and started hitting him on that arms.

For his part, he didn't do a single thing to stop her. He just let her hit him, as though he was stupid, or was too wrapped up in his victory – and trying not to let it show – to notice or care.

Which only made her angrier! She didn't even care if he got bruises later, if he did, he would deserve them!

She finally gave up pounding on his arms and took them in her hands and shook him about. "What is wrong with you?" she half-shouted. She didn't even care if they were found out, anymore! He was a lunatic, and her father was a police officer! It wasn't hard to guess who'd be in the most trouble. "Fucking say something, you lunatic!" she hollered, but Bobby didn't say anything.

She stopped shaking him and pushed him away from her with as much strength as she could, which was kind of pathetic. He didn't even fall over. If he really wanted to hurt her, she bet that he'd have no trouble!

She wrapped her arms around herself and sat there shaking and trying not to cry. She'd rather die than cry in front of him!

Bobby stared at her and she wanted to dive at him and gouge his eyes out. He thought he was so much better than her because he didn't have to go to school and he didn't have feelings! He was mad! He wasn't even a real person!

She freed her arms from around herself and grabbed him by the front of his clothes, tears streaming down her face. "I hate you, you lunatic!" she whispered horribly, glaring at him with hard, hateful eyes. All of this time he'd made out that he was her friend, when in fact he didn't even know what it _was _to _be_ a friend!

Her vision blurred momentarily with tears and she pulled him toward her and kissed him.

* * *

She slapped him across the face, her own face wet with tears that her whole body shook with. "Stop fighting, you lunatic!" she told him angrily. "You owe me! You should be _thankful_! If it wasn't for me, you wouldn't even know what it was like to live, or to have someone talk to _you_!"

She grabbed his hands to stop them from pushing her away and shoved him backward, knocking the back of his head on the wall.

"I told you to 'stop'!" she growled, smacking his head on the wall again, and again, until finally he did, and she sat in front of him, holding his hands tightly in hers in her lap, glaring at him awfully.

She let go of his hands to wipe her face, and glared at him harder. He didn't move his hands from out of her lap.

She pushed his hands out of her lap and sat up on her knees and shuffled forward and sat down over his legs, staring at him hatefully. There was something seriously wrong with him, but she didn't even care anymore!

She pushed his shoulders back against the wall and kissed him. It was better than he was likely going to get ever again! Who would want to go near a lunatic like him, anyway?

* * *

She growled, angry, gripping his shoulders tightly with her hands. "Kiss me! I said, 'Kiss me!'" She shook him by the shoulders. "Read my lips, you deaf psycho! Kiss! Me!" She grabbed a handful of his hair and lowered her mouth to his.

He probably liked boys, or worse – children! she thought. That was probably part of the reason he'd been put in here!

She felt his hands on her back below her ribs and relaxed her hold on his shoulders, letting her hands slide to his arms. She shifted her weight in his lap and ground against him, though she supposed that he'd probably on some sort of medication that would make him just not give a damn. Which meant that if she wanted something to happen, she'd have to be the one to make it happen. How more pathetic could he get!

She dropped her hands from his arms into his lap.

* * *

She really seriously needed a fucking boyfriend, Ida decided, because right now it seemed like everything that her friends went on about was all totally over-rated. Making out was crap, touching was crap, fucking was crap!

She slapped Bobby across the face and hissed at him, "You're fucking crap!" to no response, and what was worse, the little fucking freak was crying! She slapped him again and ignored him.

* * *

Parker poured her coffee out into the trash and shoved her empty mug into Sydney's hands, and stormed off. She couldn't even drink a fucking coffee these days without getting a headache!

Sydney stared after her for a moment, then turned to return the mug to the sink. He'd wash it up when he finished his own coffee.

* * *

The nurse kept asking him how he'd hit his head bad enough to sustain a concussion, but he didn't say anything, so, after he'd been to see a doctor, he was taken back to the common room and sat down at the sofa with Della and Wally, and Della leant her head on his shoulder, staring at the television screen mounted out of reach on the wall.

Amulet danced past in front of the sofa, practising her ballerina routine, and was pushed out of the way by Wally, whom she'd touched on the head with her silver plastic wand.

Amulet lurched forward and fell over, and Bobby stood up to help her up again and hug her, prompting another glare from Della, whom she'd previously patted on the head with her wand.

Wally received a telling off from one of the nurses on duty, which he ignored, his eyes glued to the television.

Amulet wandered away again and Bobby sat back down at the sofa, but Della had decided to lean her head on Wally's shoulder instead, who didn't seem to mind.

* * *

Ida dropped back into high school after lunch, and sat staring at the whiteboard in Mathematic II, her chin rested on her upturned palm, elbow on the desk, not caring if the teacher told her off for it or not.

She'd had a bloody sick note for two more days, after all – they were lucky she'd even decided to come to school in the first place!

She took her eyes off the whiteboard, starting to feel sick again, and ripped a corner of page out of her exercise book and passed it to Carmen, who was sitting in the desk behind her with Lizzie.

"With who?" Carmen gasped in a whisper, from behind her, a moment later. She'd read the note.

"It doesn't matter," Ida hissed out of the corner of her mouth, copying down the example problem from the whiteboard. They had a double period of Math, and she really couldn't be stuffed paying attention, so maybe she'd tell them a bit more later, or maybe she wouldn't. It was pretty fucking sucky!

* * *

Nicholas came in on Saturday to read him a picture book, the same as always, but Bobby wasn't interested and stared off into space.

Later, Nicholas went to see his doctor, and the doctor explained that he'd had a concussion three days ago, and that maybe that had put a bit of a dampener on his mood, though he usually wasn't the most outgoing of them; he was acting fairly well normal, fairly well the way he always acted, the way they saw it.

Nicholas refrained from comment, thanked the doctor for his time, and left the office. That was just one more reason he hadn't become a doctor! He didn't know how they could be so insensitive some days, but it made him angry.

He was thankful to be going home to his wife, Corbin, and daughter, Annabelle, and the twins, John and Lee.


	4. Chapter 4

"You whore!"

Teri's face twisted in anger, and she emitted a high, distasteful laugh. Ida's name calling only affirmed what she'd already decided was true about her.

In honesty she didn't see what Ida had gotten so upset about; she'd only yanked on Ida's ponytail to steal the ball from her field hockey, and it was, after all, just a game. Though, she'd had a bet running on whose side would win, and she'd been determined to win her bet, and she didn't think that Ida would have any such bet; so it was only fair.

Obviously, she reasoned, Ida had some deep-seated psychological issue that was only now coming to the fore. Her daddy was a lawman, so Teri figured Ida liked to get her way, didn't like to be bested. Basically, she deserved it anyway; she was such a goody-two-shoe!

But really, that was only on the outside; on the inside she was as much a bitch as the next girl in their grade! It was only fair that any prospective suitor for her affections knew that – so he could make an educated, informed decision, and choose the upfront, honest option, if he so wished. Princess Prim's little goody-goody show wasn't only unfair on the other girls, it was unfair on the boys, too; Teri wasn't gender biased.

Teri's high-nosed peel of laughter sent Ida lunging at her, before she was pulled back by the girls' English teacher, Mr. Stamatis.

"Get your hands off me, you filthy pervert!" Ida screamed, to Carmen and Lizzie's horror. She easily freed herself from her hesitant teacher's grasp and spun about to confront him, but the look on his face, and particularly in his eyes, froze her.

"Principal York's office, now!" he ordered in a low growl, his gaze flicking up to Teri's face a moment later. "That includes you, Miss Lean!"

Teri smirked. "Ooooo!" Grinning, she strutted off in the direction of Administration, where the Principal's office was located.

Mr. Stamatis shot Ida a deadly serious warning glare, and followed Teri toward Administration.

Ida imitated sticking her finger down her throat as though to throw up to her friends, and stalked after her teacher and classmate.

* * *

Ida lounged in the chair she'd taken in front of Principal York's desk, beside Teri's chair, and stared at the ceiling rather than meeting either of the older men's eyes. She couldn't be stuffed; she was bored.

Occasionally, Teri would shot her a pointed, worried glance, as though silently urging her to look at the Principal, at least, if not Mr. Stamatis, though her efforts went unnoticed by the other girl.

Finally, when the Principal's face had turned suitably red enough to be going on with, Ida dropped her gaze from the ceiling and met his eyes, uncrossing her previously tightly crossed legs, and made a face. "Here's a message from Ida to you, you dumb fuck!" she told him pleasantly, gaining her feet. "I QUIT, MOTHERFUCKER! Get it? Or do you need your assistant to take it down on her _fancy fucking_ jotter and memo you it?"

The Principal made no reply.

Teri gaped at her, then stared strangely, as though thinking, _Who is that? It can't be Ida, can it?_

Ida laughed, the sound high-pitched and menacing in the enclosed space. She placed her hands flat onto the Principal's desk and leant over, putting her face close to his. "Huh, you dumb fuck?" she hissed loudly, sarcastically, almost hysterically. She laughed again.

The Principal pointed to the door. His arm was shaking, hand; fingers too. "Get out!" he told her simply, with barely restrained anger.

Mr. Stamatis nodded toward the door.

Ida snapped to attention and saluted both men with her right hand, then turned stiffly and stalked from the room, pulling the door open with force, and slamming with bone-breaking force.

Teri jumped in her seat. She thought she'd heard the lock break.

On the wall, the Principal's university paper dislodged from its fixing and plummeted to the floor, smashing loudly and spreading glass across the immaculate cream carpet.

Teri's tropical-island-lagoon eyes strayed to the filing cabinet, where the Principal's sporting trophies had tumbled to the floor, then around to Mr. Stamatis, only to find him vanished, presumedly sent out by the Principal.

She had the unsettling feeling that she'd just witnessed the last time she'd see Ida at this school.

* * *

Ida marched angrily toward her car, leaving her schoolbag and things behind in her locker, save for her car key, and pressed the button to deactivate central locking and allow her into her BMW.

She ignored Mr. Stamatis, who she'd seen come after her, on Principal's errand, and hoped, for his sake, that he stayed the fuck back when she reversed out of the parking space, then changed her mind.

If he was in the mood to become a triple berry Roll-Up, then it stood to reason that it was any of her fucking business to stand in his way! In fact, she found herself warming to the idea by the second.

Stupid fuck! Principal's fucking pet!

Everyone knew he'd married one of his former students; he was a sick bastard!

She yanked the driver's side door and jumped in her car, and jammed the key into the ignition and hit reverse gear, really rather hoping Stamatis got it.

To her annoyance, he wasn't as stupid as he looked, or usually made out.

She revved the BMW and peeled out of the student parking lot, tyres screeching their last farewell on the bitumen.

There was no way in Hell she was ever setting foot, or high heel, in this shit hole they had the supreme audacity to call a high school, let alone a fucking education facility! A brainwash facility, more fucking like!

* * *

She didn't drive home – _Home!_ What a fucking joke! – but broke her personal promise to herself, and headed toward the crazy house, instead.

She didn't bother checking in as a Visitor at the office, but went around the side and jumped the fence instead, and calmly walked up to the building and inside.

She found Bobby in his 'room,' his roommate conveniently out, and stormed up to him, grabbing him by the front of his clothes, and backed him up against the wall.

"What the fuck is wrong with me?" she growled, as though she were a savage thing, close to his face, not about to admit that she was scaring herself.

Bobby, however, didn't appear at all frightened. "Monster," was his only reply.

Ida's seriously-fucking-pissed levels shot up higher. "Say that again, you little fucking creep!" she yelled.

"Ida Kerry Moore," Bobby began, listing off her birth date, home address, postal address, social security number, several bank account numbers, and finally, "human, Reaper." He frowned momentarily, then tossed his head, deciding he'd leave whatever it was he'd been about to say out of the way for the moment.

Ida grinned menacingly, teeth sharp.

"Mr. Stamatis knows," Bobby said. "He is too."

Ida stopped smiling, and smacked his head against the wall. "What the fuck are you talking about, loser freak?"

"Anomaly, in the genes, makes you powerful, mostly when angry, haven't learnt control," Bobby rambled, then stopped. "Wanna see?"

Ida smacked his head into the wall again. "See what, you fucking fruitcake?"

Bobby smiled, and Ida barely had time to think on the creepiness of it, before she was thrown, full force, across the room, and slammed into the wall opposite, all without a single hand laid on her.

She coughed loudly, but was reasonably sure she hadn't heard anything break, at least, not anything on her. Also, she'd stopped being angry, and was now just plain scared as Hell!

Bobby stepped away from the wall and started to walk toward her.

She stared as his fingernails turned black, and his teeth got all sharp. She felt like puking, and running, but she was possibly too freaked out to do any of these. She was glad he's stopped smiling, at least.

"Monster's aren't bad, only if they want to be," Bobby told her. "You're it; it's not you. Don't let it tell you otherwise."

She couldn't help it; she wanted to cry. "Are you a monster too?" She hated the way her voice sounded, small and weak.

Bobby's fingernails and teeth returned to how they'd been before. Normal, Ida guessed. She was the freak! "No," he replied. "I manifest, doesn't mean I am. Something different. You were right. Freak."

Ida stared at him, unable not to.

"Before, met others; help you?"

Ida slid down the wall, and the tears she'd been fighting finally broke, leaking out of her eyes. Why? Why did it have to be her? And why did it have to be him? She'd been so, so horrible to him!

Bobby merely watched her.

Ida blinked the tears away, angry at them for getting in the way – she couldn't see – shaking all over. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry. Please!"

Bobby nodded, but didn't speak.

* * *

Ida huddled against the wall, crying still.

"It's okay," a voice that wasn't Bobby's soothed, and she felt someone hugging her, and opened her eyes to see Bobby knelt on the floor beside her, _hugging her_ – except it wasn't Bobby.

* * *

"Who are you?" she sobbed.

"Bobby," Bobby replied.

"No you're not!" she accused, tears streaming down her face.

Bobby frowned.

He didn't even frown like Bobby! Ida wanted to run away; she was scared!

"Before your Bobby," came Bobby's unconcerned reply.

"What?" Ida cried.

"If you ever hurt my little brother again, I'll make you pay, promise!" Bobby told her, suddenly chillingly serious, and perfectly calm.

Ida stared at him in fright, her eyes wide.

Bobby patted her hair. "Everything will be alright," he reassured.

Ida shivered. She didn't like this Bobby at all; she wanted the old Bobby back! Fast!

"Promise is a promise is a promise, I-D-A, darlin'," Bobby whispered. "Jimmy knows that."

* * *

_Sorry, lame. Mr. Stamatis is Sydney's Nicholas._


	5. Chapter 5

Blood tripped from the ends of her shaking fingers onto the floor, in a steady beat. Ida was painted red; it'd always been her favourite colour. The red flowed from her mouth and down her chin, steady beat, her body shaking all over.

She'd just killed her father. _She'd fucking wasted her own father!_ The gun shook horribly in her hands. Daddy's gun. She ignored Bobby's words, crazy freak, scared she was going to shoot him, scared she'd figure it was all his fault.

She raised the gun to her head, weren't scared of her at all, scared for her, crazy freak. She'd be with daddy soon.

She shot her brains out, didn't live to hear the loud sound subside, more blood on the floor.

* * *

Parker listened over the phone as the psychiatric hospital explained why she'd have to come in in the next few days. They didn't think the boy would last much longer with the massive internal head trauma he'd sustained, though they couldn't say for sure how. She'd be wanting to say her goodbyes, make her peace with the boy; that was about the extent of what they could offer her.

9-year-old Smith walked into the kitchen, cell phone in hand, keying out a text message to her 13-year-old best friend, Courage, whose real name was Andrea.

Parker took no notice of her, her attention on the speaker on the other end of the phone.

When she'd completed thumbing out her text message, Smith hit the buttons in the 'send' command string, and slid her cell phone shut, glancing up at her mother.

From the other room, she could hear Tom and Wesson, the 6-year-old twins, playing loudly on their videogame console over the television, surround sound system turned on and at full volume, so that her mother had adopted a turned away, sort of hunched in pose to be able to hear what she was being told over the telephone.

Smith considered going into the other room and rousting her brothers into turning it down a couple of notches, but, before she could act on that thought, Parker had already replaced the telephone, and Smith felt a little jolt as her mother's eyes fixed on her, like a sneaky intruder, intruding into something into which she had no place poking her head or ears around. "Hey," she said, in her best just-tuned-in unfazed voice, but it came out a bit desiring, a bit small.

"I need to make a quick stop," her mom told her. "Be ready."

Smith stared after Parker as she exited the kitchen. Her mom wanted her to come with her on her 'quick stop'?

* * *

Her mom's quick stop turned out to be at the reception desk to some psychiatric place for loonies.

Smith tried hard to look cool and not in the least bit freaked out, though she wished she'd brought a coat or a jacket that she could now sink in and hide in. The place gave her the heebies, in a bad way.

She listened to Parker talking to the receptionist quickly, all business. Her mom was telling the receptionist to have someone called Bobby's things, 'personal affects,' mailed to her, and giving the receptionist a mailing address. She'd take care of the other arrangements, she said.

Smith wondered what her mom meant by 'other arrangements,' and generally what in the Hell they were doing in such a place in the first. She didn't like it one bit.

She turned away from her mom, and glanced at the television in the corner, broadcasting too quietly to actually hear what was being said, or advertised, and saw again, a photograph of the little girl from last night's news who'd been murdered by her aunt.

She shivered and turned back to her mother, not wanting to look at any of the people 'waiting' to meet someone in this place, not wanting to meet any of their eyes. They weren't here for the same reasons at all, her mom was just here to make sure some of her things got sent to the right place, was all.

* * *

When they finally left the hospital, Smith felt a wave of relief wash over her, and straightened slightly, feeling better already, if not somewhat apprehensive, and wondered what her mom would be getting when the hospital finally mailed her the stuff she'd asked them to.

Parker hit central locking and the car unlocked, and Smith climbed inside, feeling safe and warm and protected.

* * *

They stopped in the mall afterward, for an ice-cream, and took seats at a bright little coin-shaped round table in the food court, Smith with an ice-cream and frozen Coke, and Parker with a black coffee.

So maybe it had been worth it after all, Smith started to think.

From the other side of the little table, her mom's face adjusted out of her private thoughts, into the outside world where her daughter sat across from her licking her favourite flavoured ice-cream. "This doesn't get back to dad, hey?" she said suddenly, her voice, like before, all business.

Smith forgot about her ice-cream, and stared across at her mother.

"Ever," Parker added with forcefulness.

Smith shook her head. "I don't get it. I mean, what's the big deal. What doesn't get back to dad?"

Her mother's eyes hardened against her. "Your cousin is changing hands, Smith; moving between worlds. Your father doesn't hear of this."

Smith went off her ice-cream right then. Someone was dying? _'Changing hands'?_

Parker returned to her coffee, the window of opportunity had been closed down.

Smith didn't want her ice-cream after that, but it was a sight better than her brothers had gotten, so it'd not be okay if she just dropped it in the trash and made it a day, be done with it. She suddenly wished she'd not gotten that frozen Coke. She was thirsty as anything, but she couldn't stand the sticky sweetness; it made her want to be ill, suddenly.

* * *

Ida stood in the parking lot, waiting for her friends, Carmen and Lizzie, to get their things from their lockers and meet her up.

The wind had picked up since school's out, and blew against her face, making her hair slap about gently.

She waited for her friends and thought of Drew's funeral, which'd be coming along shortly. She didn't even know what kind of flowers Drew had liked; she figured she'd just have to guess.

_Something red_, she thought. Red roses, maybe. There'd never be any boy to give them to her, never be the time, so she figured this'd be the one and only time she'd get pretty flowers; she'd might as well make them good ones.

Carmen and Lizzie were laughing as they exited the stadium, but their voices were snatched away by the wind, and Ida watched them without sound, the voice of the wind the only title on the soundtrack.

* * *

_So yeah, that's a shift in time, kinda backward, if that didn't make sense. Sorry, still lame._


End file.
